


Second Chances Come So Rarely

by fairyScorpicus



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Darkiplier - Freeform, Mark Fischbach Egos, Markiplier - Freeform, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyScorpicus/pseuds/fairyScorpicus
Summary: He doesn't know how he got here. He doesn't know how to stop the future from occuring. But Damien will be damned if he doesn't try.
Comments: 48
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

The light streaming through the windows was hurting their eyes. They groaned and rolled onto their side, back facing the light. And paused.

Their groan sounded… wrong.

Their eyes popped open and they were greeted by a plethora of colors. With a sharp gasp, they sat up, sleep abandoned in favor of gaping at their surroundings. They soaked in the light blue walls, the half-open curtains, the unfamiliar room.

“Where am I?” They asked, and their hands flew to their throat as their voice came out cleanly, higher-pitched and smoother than they had heard it in ages. It sounded like a stranger’s voice, and they turned inward to ask the Others if they recognized their voice. Except the Others were gone.

Gone…? How could that be? They were always together, always trapped inside the form they controlled together, always forced to work together. But their mind was clear of thoughts or dissent. They were alone.

Impossible. Just like the lack of monochrome. Impossible.

Unless they weren’t part of Darkiplier anymore.

Their eyes widened and they grabbed themself. They were in a physical form, so they weren't trapped in a mirror, like the person whose body they stole. Unless they had done it again, in a desperate bid for freedom from the Others, then they shouldn’t be in a body. And yet they were. They tried to recall if they had a fight with the Others or if their body has been destroyed. Remembering nothing, they reached out mentally again for the Others only to be hit with the reality that the Others were gone.

So. They were controlling a new body. Alone. They had to find the Others.

Who am I? They wondered, dazed. They had been one being, Darkiplier, combined with the Others for so long it had grown hard to tell which thoughts were Its and which thoughts were Hers and which thoughts were His. It was clear that the Others had separated, leaving them to their own thoughts, but they had no way of telling anymore which fragment of Darkiplier they had been. They held out their hands, searching for a clue.

Their fingernails were short and neat, manicured and polished in a way that had pleased Dark. But no paint. The calluses on their fingertips and palms were nonexistent, speaking of a life with very little physical work. But so it had been for all of the fragments. Their gaze traveled slowly up their arms, noting the lack of muscle gained as Dark as they scanned their flat chest. So they weren’t her. Weren’t… weren’t…

“Celine,” They whispered, and flinched at both the name and the voice who said it. They sounded decidedly masculine, although they were reluctant to decide without looking further into their appearances. Perhaps they were the body Dark had stolen, they thought with a guilty twist in their stomach, or perhaps It had brought traces of the other man, the villain, into their consciousness. They needed a mirror to make sure, they thought with a cringe.

They stood up with ease, body similar in height and build as Dark, as they approached the door to the bedroom, which looked more familiar than originally thought. But the location and owner of the room eluded them all the same.

The bedroom door led to a hallway, walls painted a soft yellow that brought a sense of cheerful company and lonely nights to their mind. They approached the closest door in the hall, careful to open it slowly and quietly lest it turned out they weren’t living alone. They had a feeling they were.

The bathroom was painted white and the decor resembled the 1920’s, they noted with a grimace. They went to crack their neck in annoyance but the movement brought on no discomfort or noise other than a few joints complaining. They paused, delighted, and rolled their neck again. The relief was euphoric. The neck of this body wasn’t broken, wasn’t sending horrible shooting pain down their spine, wasn’t begging for the futile attempt of release in the form of cracking his neck. It was healed.

They stepped forward into the bathroom absent-mindedly, hands wrapped around their neck, feeling the aligned bones with glee. They turned to the mirror within to look at their neck with joy, only to freeze.

The face on the other side of the mirror was Him.

Another fragment. He stared at them from the mirror, shocked. They stepped closer to the mirror, eyebrows furrowing as the fragment copied him. They paused. The fragment paused. They reached out and touched the glass as the fragment reflected them.

“You are… me,” They said slowly. “I am… Him.”

They- He?- reached up to feel their face as their mirror reflection copied him. He was the other fragment, he realized, the one who was Celine’s sibling. The brother. What was his name? The mayor. The mayor-

“Damien.” He said out loud. It had been so long since he had heard that name, HIS name, and it seemed to welcome back a tide of memories. Late nights working. The feel of his cane in his hand. His friends. The Colonel. The Seer. The District Attorney.

The Detective. The Actor.

Mark.

Of course. Mark.

He dropped his hand to his side.

“I will not play this game, Mark,” he hissed. “Did you separate us to weaken us?” He spun around and exited the bathroom, opening the other door in the hallway to reveal a guest bedroom in Damien’s house- because this was an exact replica of Damien’s house, back in the 1920s when he had made a bit of money working as the mayor and had moved out of his apartment. He could still recall the laughter from his friends and the drinks passed around, one of the last few nights where his friends had all gotten together before William had…

“Where are you, Mark?!” He roared, bursting out the hallway into the living room, equally as empty as the rest of the house. A quick search throughout the rest of the house showed no results.

He was alone. He paused, mind whirling.

Mark may have made a replica of his old house, but he couldn’t have made a replica of the outside world in the 1920’s. He approached the front door, gearing up for a fight.

“Mark-” he started, throwing open the door, and then paused.

Ancient cars tumbled down uneven roads, more people walking than driving, smog from factories clogging up the air more than it had in a long time. He coughed reflexively, otherwise frozen in shock.

He was in the 1920s.

“How is this possible?” Damien asked, but no one was there to reply.


	2. Chapter 2

It felt like a dream. Damien walked down the halls in a daze, letting his muscle memory take over as he made his way to his office, passing by people who tried to start up conversation. He managed a weak smile but ignored them all, entering his office with a large sense of relief. He wasn’t sure why he went to work; His job as a mayor seemed unimportant in the face of the events that were yet to come. And yet he felt drift, lost and confused, and he was clinging a sense of normalcy that was all wrong.

A knock sounded on his door, and he grimaced. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, couldn’t talk to anyone, because they were expecting the friendly, sensitive mayor that he had left behind so long ago. He wasn't that man anymore; He didn't think he could change back.

But he felt a need for pretense.

“Come in,” he said reluctantly, and the door opened. All of Damien’s breath left in a rush.

It was _them_.

The District Attorney smiled softly from the doorway, facial expression becoming more concerned as they took in Damien’s deer-in-headlights look. They tilted their head questioningly.

“Just, having a bad day,” Damien managed, voice rasping in a truly embarrassing way. Luckily, the voice only seemed to contribute to his lie, as they quickly expressed their worry. 

“I’ll be okay,” he tried, waving them off. “I just can’t interact with people today.”

Frown still on their face, they left to give him space.

The District Attorney. What a far cry they seemed from the last time Damien had seen them, no longer in a broken body, no longer looking at him with betrayal on their face. No longer haunted by the past.

Damien sat up in his chair. His dear friend was no longer haunted by the past, because the past hadn't happened yet. Rather, Damien mused, it was the future. And therefore, changeable. Damien stood up, hope and determination filling him. The future was changeable. Preventable. 

He could stop it all from happening.

He leaped out of his office and ran out of the building, ignoring the surprised cries of his coworkers. If this reality was as real as it seemed, then Damien could fix everything.

He had a second chance, and nothing was going to stop him from trying to stop the future.

He slammed his front door shut and headed to his dining room, pulling out a pen and some paper.

Quickly, he began to write down every moment of the hated event that was ingrained in his memory. On a piece of paper, he wrote at the top:

Things To Prevent:

-DA dying

Damien gritted his teeth. That was one easily preventable: He would simply not ask the district attorney to be his plus one for the party. If it was possible altogether, he could prevent the party from even taking place. Perhaps he could host his own party that night, insure that the Colonel never went to Mark's house, and could not be tricked into killing the actor. Not that Mark didn't deserve it, but that was what started the mess. That, Damien frowned, and the detective who was so full of himself that he didn't let them call the police. What was his name, Abe? He had been a friend of Mark's, apparently, but Damien had never met him before. It was likely that he had just been a pawn of the Actor's to ensure William's arrest, not that that was what happened.

-Celine dying

-Me dying

"No seance, no witch-stuff, no void monster gaining access to our bodies," Damien grumbled out loud. He ran his hand over his head, taking a moment to relish the feeling of his hair, slightly messier than the old mayor would have let it grow but still a far cry in cleanliness compared to the hair of the thing he had become. His body would stay his, and NOT be stolen by Mark.

-Wilford going-

Damien paused.

"Wilford," he said softly. He stared at the incorrect name before him. He missed William, yes, the eccentric colonel who egged him on in drinking contests and made fantastic jokes. But he didn't miss the whimpers that left William's lips as he slept on Damien's couch after the parties, the hand that jumped to a gun, the sudden and vicious anger that would overtake the other man, the fatal flaws that led to the death of his precious attorney. 

And, Damien would admit, he would miss Wilford, still egging him into drinking contests and making jokes, but also accepting apologies despite how high a crime or always offering a hug. Just as quick to the gun, but slower to shoot.

Damien sighed bitterly. Yes, he would miss Wilford, but the pros of changing the future outweighed the cons. He scratched out the line and tried again.

-William going insane

He gazed unseeing at the pages before him, then stood up abruptly and headed to his room, ignoring the bright sunshine outside. He was going to take a nap. A long one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emo man forced to admit he actually liked the bubblegu(n) boy


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien comes up with more of a plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to aggressive googling of calendars from the 1920's and all that, I've discovered there is a Friday the 13th in October in the year 1922, so that's the year that my fic, and my headcanon for when WKM takes place. (he just says its a year in the 1920s so its very probable that in fact it would be 1922.)
> 
> The WKM and my fic Timeline:  
> (for my purposes) Butler is hired by Mark: September 25th, Monday  
> Chapter 1-3: September 28th, Thursday  
> Coffee with the Colonel: September 30th, Saturday  
> Abe goes to Mark's house to check the chef and butler's backgrounds (Mark just hired the butler recently but the chef has worked there for 25 years, why is he only getting a background check now????) (scene from WKM Pt. 1): October 7th, Saturday  
> The party: October 10th, Tuesday  
> When Damien becomes Darkiplier, Abe/DA die, etc: October 13th, Friday

The nap had not helped all that much, but as Damien stared at the ceiling, it did allow for his mind to come up with ideas on how to avoid that party.

First, he needed some sort of event that would keep William and the District Attorney busy and keep them away from Mark’s party. The District Attorney didn’t know Mark all that well, so hopefully, any event would do, and Damien figured as long as it was a party of some sort, William would show up. Damien took a moment to wonder why on earth William had shown up to Mark’s party in the first place. William knew that Mark was aware of the affair, so why did he show his face? Surely it wasn’t William’s love of partying that made him show up, right? Damien growled into his hands.

Even if he pulled William and the DA out of the party, there was still a chance that Celine was in danger. Although she hadn’t shown up until the day after, who knows what Mark would do after it became clear that his plan fell apart. If he could get Celine somewhere safe, then there would be no one for Mark to take out his anger on except for the detective, who Damien had no idea how to contact and didn’t think was in any particular danger anyways. The detective had died the last time, yes, but not because of Mark. He was clearly one of Mark’s puppets, placed there to immediately arrest William, but that hadn’t gone to plan last time either. But if there was no one to “kill” Mark, there would be no one to arrest, and no crime to solve, so Damien figured that the detective would be safe and alive after it was all said and done. Curse Mark for bringing in innocent bystanders!

Damien rolled out of bed with a sigh and headed over to the phone. He would need to be in contact with William again. After the cover-up of William’s accident on the safari hunt, Damien had distanced himself a bit in an attempt to keep his name clear. He hadn’t gotten very close to his good friend again before the affair was revealed. Damien hadn’t known much of what had happened, since he didn’t keep good contact with his sister, but both Celine and William had told him about it after Mark found out. Damien had expected Mark to come complain to him too, except the actor had only closed himself off in his mansion, speaking to fewer people. Having the gift of hindsight, Damien realized just how strange the sudden party invitation really had been. If Damien had been in better contact with William and Celine, he would’ve been more suspicious of the invitation and wouldn’t have come.

Damien picked up the phone and stared at it, becoming better acquainted with the older technology once more. His finger hovered over the numbers before he set it down, dismayed. He couldn't remember their phone numbers. Of course, it had been about one hundred years, but having even the slightest delay in calling his old friend did nothing for his nerves. He hurried to his office and found a notebook with some phone numbers written down. He skipped past The District Attorney's and his sister's numbers quickly, searching for William's. He took the book back with him to the living room where the phone sat, firmly attached to the wall. He grimaced at the old technology.

He dialed William’s number first. Celine trusted him, even if she sometimes babied him and acted as if she knew better. If he were to call her and convince her not to show up at Mark’s mansion, he didn’t think it would take much convincing to make her agree.

“Hello?” A voice rang from the phone gruffly. “Who is this?”

“William,” Damien greeted, breath almost catching in his throat at the sound of his old friend’s voice. It sounded almost like Wilford’s except less slurred. “It’s been a while.”

There was a sound like someone shifted abruptly on the other side of the phone.

“Damien!” William cried, sounded very cheerful and relieved. “Old chap, how are you?” Damien felt a wave of guilt that the last time around he hadn’t spoken to William that much. It was clear they both missed each other.

“I’m doing well,” Damien replied, smiling even though the Colonel wouldn’t be able to see it. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a coffee sometime this week. We could catch up.”

“Delightful!” William all but shouted into the phone, making Damien reflexively pull away before bringing the phone back. “Any day works for me, but I know you’ve got that stuffy job of yours.”

Damien grinned at the playful jab. Trust William to act like nothing had changed.

“It’s not that stuffy,” Damien protested half-heartedly, and William barked with laughter.

“Only because of that friend of yours, ey?” The Colonel’s voice lowered conspiratorially. “You want to give them cash, Dams?”

Damien blinked, confused. “I-” He paused, flushing, as he recalled the word’s meaning back in the day. “I do not want to kiss them!” His face was burning. William laughed into the receiver.

“What I wouldn’t give to see your face right now!” He chuckled. Damien felt his blush refuse to go away. 

He glanced to the side for a distraction and caught sight of his calendar and caught sight of the date. September 28. Only 12 days until Mark’s party. He cleared his throat in surprise. He hadn’t realized he had so little time, although he supposed he should be thankful he hadn’t come back right on that dreaded day. But still, only 12 days? Everyone would have surely gotten their invitations to the party by now. He had to convince William that hanging out with him was better than going to Mark’s mansion.

“I’ll be open Saturday,” he managed. “I hope that isn’t too soon for you?” While he knew that planning a meet-up so quickly was something often done back in the more modern day, he was now the mayor again, and it would certainly seem impolite to plan an outing not two days prior. But he didn’t have much time, and William was eccentric enough that he probably didn’t notice any lack of propriety.

“Hotsy-Totsy!” William barked into the phone before abruptly hanging up. Damien stared at the phone for a moment.

“Hotsy-Totsy?” he repeated, dismayed. He considered the word, trying to figure out if William agreed to come or not in his own strange way. Then he shook his head.

“He’s coming.” Probably. He shook his head fondly. He set the phone down before picking it up again. He had to check on his sister. He had no idea why Celine hadn’t been at the party, or why she had shown up right after. He had no idea where she was currently. He rang her up and waited, but the call didn’t go through. He waited to leave a voicemail, but the phone hung up. He stared at the invention in disgust.

“Technology in the 1920s sucks,” he grumbled to himself as he tried to recall when answering machines were invented. His mind drew a blank and he growled to himself. He picked up the phone again, this time to call the DA, before pausing and flushing again, recalling William’s words.

“No,” he said, setting the phone down. “I can just call them and ask if they want to hang out.” He stepped into the kitchen, away from the phone. “They’re my friend. I can call them at this time because it’s not that late and I can go have coffee with them.” He grabbed a glass of water and opened his fridge. He sighed as he glanced at the food in his fridge and the time on the clock. “It’s not that hard,” he argued to himself as he started preparing for dinner. “I can just talk to them at work tomorrow.” he nodded to himself. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”

\----

The butler stared at the ringing phone.

“Sir, are you sure I can’t answer it for you?” He asked. His boss huffed in annoyance in response.

“You’re fairly new here,” His boss replied. “But if there’s one thing you should've learned by now, is that I don’t receive visitors.”

“But it’s not a visitor, sir, it’s the phone,” The butler protested, and his boss snarled back.

“It’s the same thing. I don’t talk to anyone.” His boss exited the room, muttering to himself. The butler stared at the phone in trepidation. “Surely picking up the phone wouldn’t have been that bad?” He waited to see if the caller would try again, but there was no response. Still, he told himself, it’s not polite to let the phone ring out when there were servants like him to answer them. If they called again, he would pick up the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I had to google when writing this  
> -do phones exist in the 1920s (yes)  
> -do voicemails exist in the 1920s (no)  
> -do answering machines exist in the 1920s (no)  
> -calendar for October 1920, October 1921, October 1922, as well as September 1920 and September 1922  
> -had to watch the scene with the chef's Little Buddy camera thing (tbh, I don't like watching WKM but I'm still intrigued with the concept and the characters???)  
> -had to look at many markiplier/fandom/wkm wikis to figure out information from specific quotes (again, why has the chef worked there for 25 years but only getting a background check now?) 
> 
> also please note that the detective was at the mansion October 7th but later says he hasn't been in contact with Mark for a while?? Even if we ignore October 7th he was still probably the last one to talk to Mark beside the chef/gardener/butler because Damien is busy. the DA knows Mark since college but doesn't know him that well, William and Celine ran off together after the affair was revealed but then broke up and now Celine's current location is up in the air but William doesn't really have anywhere to go even though he was living in Mark's mansion after the war but obviously he found somewhere else to stay after the affair was revealed, somewhere nearby if he could arrive to the party, Celine must be further because she didn't arrive until the day after, and she didn't know Mark was dead unless she was that in tune with the manor's energies. So either Celine is far away or Celine just didn't go to the party because she's smart, but heard William went and so she went to the mansion to see if she could still save him but no, too late
> 
> I can't believe I'm concocting a whole wkm timeline here eww


End file.
